At Twenty Weeks, He Faked My Miscarriage

At Twenty Weeks, He Faked My Miscarriage

Tabbie Platt

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For a decade, I was Amelia Ross, the Upper East Side's most publicly humiliated wife. Page Six kept a running tally of my husband Jared Sterling's affairs, a humiliating "Sterling's Scorecard." My entire independent design career, my peace of mind, even my very identity, had been sacrificed to protect the Sterling family's gilded facade. Then, with surgical cruelty, Jared orchestrated a "routine check-up" during my twenty-week pregnancy. It ended not with a healthy heartbeat, but a fabricated miscarriage report and a hefty gag order. "You're not fit to carry a Sterling heir," he sneered, tossing the paperwork at me as he celebrated with Kendra Bell, his latest "passion muse." My heart, already a mosaic of fractures from 99 prior betrayals, shattered into dust. While Jared and Kendra toasted their "undying love," my baby was gone, a life stolen, and my agony dismissed as inconvenient. The public, his family, even Jared himself, expected me to collapse, to beg for forgiveness, to cling to the wreckage of our marriage like I always had. They expected tears, desperation, and another humiliating plea. But the hundredth cut didn't break me; it forged me anew. From that moment on, I didn't just walk away; I turned the page, ready to build an empire of my own, free from the Sterling name, ready to redefine what "Amelia Ross" truly meant.

Introduction

For a decade, I was Amelia Ross, the Upper East Side's most publicly humiliated wife.

Page Six kept a running tally of my husband Jared Sterling's affairs, a humiliating "Sterling's Scorecard."

My entire independent design career, my peace of mind, even my very identity, had been sacrificed to protect the Sterling family's gilded facade.

Then, with surgical cruelty, Jared orchestrated a "routine check-up" during my twenty-week pregnancy.

It ended not with a healthy heartbeat, but a fabricated miscarriage report and a hefty gag order.

"You're not fit to carry a Sterling heir," he sneered, tossing the paperwork at me as he celebrated with Kendra Bell, his latest "passion muse."

My heart, already a mosaic of fractures from 99 prior betrayals, shattered into dust.

While Jared and Kendra toasted their "undying love," my baby was gone, a life stolen, and my agony dismissed as inconvenient.

The public, his family, even Jared himself, expected me to collapse, to beg for forgiveness, to cling to the wreckage of our marriage like I always had.

They expected tears, desperation, and another humiliating plea.

But the hundredth cut didn't break me; it forged me anew.

From that moment on, I didn't just walk away; I turned the page, ready to build an empire of my own, free from the Sterling name, ready to redefine what "Amelia Ross" truly meant.

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My whole life was focused on one goal: Harvard. I was Sarah Miller, the academic star, future astrophysicist, and that scholarship was my family's only way out of our small New England town. Just days after acing another SAT practice test, my best friend Chloe, with her cheerleader ponytail swinging, handed me a shiny "friendship locket" for good luck. Suddenly, my perfect scores plummeted, while Chloe' s, who usually struggled, inexplicably soared. Then, a chilling conversation overheard outside the library confirmed my worst fears: Chloe and Ethan, my childhood friend and the boy I might have loved, had deliberately used the cursed antique locket from Mr. Abernathy' s shop to swap my academic luck for Chloe' s gain. My actual SAT scores were a disaster, shattering my Harvard dream and my mother's hopes as her health faltered under the stress. Ethan, to shield Chloe from a plagiarism charge, brazenly framed me, leading to my National Honor Society revocation, lost scholarships, and public humiliation as a "cheater." Later, after Ethan rushed off to save Chloe, leaving me besieged by a vengeful clique vandalizing my car, he returned only to plant fabricated evidence that caused my mother to collapse. How could my closest friends, who should have been my anchors, orchestrate such a cruel, calculated betrayal, then watch my life unravel without a flicker of remorse? The injustice burned, transforming my despair into a cold, sharp rage. They believed they had dealt with the 'naive bookworm' and that I would just "be fine." They were profoundly mistaken. My revenge would begin by turning their own vile magic against them.

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